FILM BRAKE: A SYNDICATED DETECTIVE

 

CORONADO 9 (1960-61)

Suddenly it's 1940! Reminiscent of a twenty-year-old movie premise, this thirty-nine-episode syndicated series, produced by Revue Studios' shoestring budget, starred the popular Republic Pictures Western star, Rod Cameron. The Canadian-born actor played a former United States Navy intelligence officer who is now an always-in-demand private detective in this, his third and final law enforcement series. The Navy provided a good pension. The show's title represents his phone exchange in the affluent suburb of San Diego where the iconic Hotel del Coronado got the attention of photographers. Owning the massive slab of Lincoln Continental that got about seven miles per gallon with a tailwind is another tip-off. He may reluctantly take on an investigation being a wee bit tired of dodging bullets, getting beaten up, or not trusting a client's motives.

Cameron's baritone voice provides narration to introduce his assignment—periodically informing the viewer of his progress—and typically wraps an episode to tie up any loose ends. His persona might not solicit Mike Hammer or Philip Marlowe, though one cannot help but like the towering star. A friend one could flawlessly reconnect with no matter how long the separation. Reconnecting with the receiving end of Cameron's fists is another matter. He has a permit to carry them. His stunt double can be quite obvious—ironic in that Cameron used to be one himself. It also explains why he is never winded after an intense fistfight. Business-savvy Cameron figured he would be better served financially by starring in another syndicated series. Producers may have hoped the no-nonsense Cameron would carry the series on the heels of his popular, long-running series, State Trooper. This show possessed nothing unique and even with an ideal time slot on either of the three major network's prime-time schedules, it would not have survived long.

Not to be too harsh, television's number one action man—according to the series promo ads—did have a winning smile and could charm the ladies. He could also be a role model to the local lad looking for summer work swabbing his boat. The San Diego filming—aside from the projected background shots—adds authenticity. A number of episodes were well-directed and well-paced with a twist or two. But sixty years later, any twist may be untwisted sooner than later. A number of episodes climaxed with a chase up a stairway or on rare occasions, end with a touch of humor, sometimes at Cameron's expense. The writers generally did a pretty good job in an era of equally talky, and generally boring shows—Peter Gunn or Mr. Lucky come to mind. Coronado 9's first episode is particularly dull due to being filmed almost entirely in the confining space of his sailboat. A fun trivia journey for boomers may be the familiar guest stars, yet Revue's casting net was not wide, hiring actors with limited television credits.

Cameron's stalwart persona was perhaps better suited for holding reins than a steering wheel. The Ford Motor Company appears to have been a sponsor of the show. They were always convertibles because Cameron sat tall in the vinyl. With Cameron's start in Hollywood, his Western style might be best associated with  Randolph Scott. If possible, imagine stalwart Scott as a modern-day private detective behind the wheel. Do not expect to see automobiles associated with the show's release date as the series began filming in 1958. Neither expects the ubiquitous music to be a signature element—unlike Peter Gunn—any more than the nondescript opening theme as Cameron scans the bay, guessing where he last anchored his boat.

Finally—it can be assumed—due to his Naval Intelligence years, “Dan Adams” had a deep social network that eventually took him from Coronado to strange, exotic locales around the world as more adventurer than mere detective. Implausibly, it suggests everyone's only crime-solving choice had to be a somewhat weary fifty-year-old P.I. from California.

COVER UP (1949)

 THE MURDER THAT SAVED CHRISTMAS

This light mystery is hard not to like from its opening scene thanks to the appeal of Dennis O'Keefe and Barbara Britton. In their first clever exchange, Britton pretends to have not noticed O’Keefe on the train even though he sat across from her, facing backward. He is skeptical of her memory and hooks her, "You know I snore pretty badly when I ride backward." “Not true...your eyes were open all the...” His icebreaker is successful. Their delightful dialogue—though not unique—is provided by a screenplay by Jerome Odlum and Jonathan Rix aka O'Keefe. They do a fine job of not revealing the climax in the early stages where one simply has to endure the last thirty minutes or so. Both know how to keep a secret under wraps. United Artists’ released the eighty-three-minute film in February though the story is set at Christmastime. Ignore the poster of deceit.

The leads are heading to a small mid-western town where everyone knows who's who. Britton is coming home for the holiday. She lights up the screen with every smile and may never have looked more appealing. Her teenage sister may be the film's cliched annoyance. She is all ga-ga over O'Keefe, an insurance investigator. He is arriving to confirm an apparent suicide but all clues lead to an obvious murder. He should feel right at home in a role he often played. He certainly knew his strengths. Much to O’Keefe’s disappointment, clues are pointing to Britton's father—the likable Art Baker. His Luger is the assumed murder weapon with his vintage beaver coat figuring into the evidence. However illogical, the small town wants to ignore the past incident.

O’Keefe gets little cooperation from William Bendix, the county sheriff, who also owns a Lugar. The two pros have witty chemistry from their first meeting. The sheriff’s cryptic behavior does not endear him to the investigator initially. Bendix tries to change the suicide subject more than once suggesting twice he abandon cigarettes and switch to a pipe. His preferred habitual mode. O’Keefe says it is okay—he owns stock in a cigarette company. The sheriff knows the truth will eventually unravel but he is not keen on helping the investigator.

It is a rapid climax as the incident is revealed by a single witness. The man killed was not liked by anyone. He was bent on destroying the town, the people and their future, with hate and gossip. So whether suicide or murder, the locals considered it good fortune. Children will long remember the murder that brought new joy to Christmas.

Notes: There are three characters with amusing scenes. First up is Bendix’s deputy, Dan White, who has no dialogue, finding it more convenient to simply shrug or point. But we first see him hanging up the phone at the end of a conversation! O’Keefe tells him to tone down his chatter on one visit.

Then there is the theater scene with an inquisitive and savvy youngster, George McDonald. He turns around and stares at O’Keefe and Britton for a while before giving opinions about the lame movie playing and some romantic advice. By then, O’Keefe is trying to buy him off with money for another theater across the street. Except the kid has seen that movie. He finally gets what he wanted all along, money for bowling. He and his buddy duck out of the theater.

But by far the most amusing performance is by Baker’s maid to end all maids, Doro Merande (above right). She is a walking encyclopedia of everything that goes on in the family and in town. Her unique delivery suggests she is completely daffy yet her astute, cutting opinions are delivered like compliments. Her exchanges with O’Keefe are highlights. In their final greeting at the door, he jokingly grabs her at the shoulders, lifts her off her feet, and feigns an attempt to kiss her madly. She is aloof yet not completely against his advances. Later, to help cover for Baker during the investigation, she deliberately sets fire to his old college coat, destroying any evidence of it. She nonchalantly confesses to him before abruptly leaving the scene, "I had a little accident with your beaver coat. I was cleaning it and it caught fire...burned up completely."

THE WRONG ROAD (1937)

The early scenes setting up the premise of this American crime drama may remind you of those old “etiquette films” where there is a life lesson to be learned. Appropriately, the music under the introductory titles can best be described as sappy. Not much to fault here, however, other than the now-dated script by Gordon Rigby which will stretch the believability factor at times. Yet, his main focus is still relevant. I do credit him with an unpredictable script with an ending that is a well-kept secret. There are sly usages of humor as well, making the film an entertaining fifty-three minutes. Competent acting is evident from the outset with no one needing to apologize after the premiere. The film was directed by silent film director and actor, James Cruze, and released by Republic Pictures.

Fresh-faced sweethearts, Richard Cromwell and his girl, Helen Mack, are moping over their dream plans which never panned out after graduation. The eternity of that first summer out of college really stunk. Mack, born into a wealthy family, had dreams of an easy life as a society girl until her father lost everything during her senior year. She cannot bear the thought of doing manual work. Cromwell, expecting a career in a high-paying engineering job, ended up getting fired a few months in. Now in his third year as a disgruntled bank teller, he had also expected a promotion by now. They even go so far as to suggest it is their right to have decent jobs. Sounds like they are on the wrong road to Socialism.

Cromwell’s character, with his wide mood swings, might be diagnosed as bipolar in the future. His plan is to gradually steal one hundred grand as Mack “withdraws” quite a stack each time she comes in. Their blinding love leads to greed. They each agree to never deny the theft because going to prison is the only way his plan will work. Oh...kay. He figures they will be in prison for a year or two, then once out they can retrieve the money hidden in the bottom of an antique music box. Keep in mind, neither are seven-year-olds.

Prior to being arrested, they meet with an insurance detective, Lionel Atwill, who astutely and compassionately explains their predicament. He offers them a pardon if they divulge where they hid the money. He bluntly tells them a sentence of up to ten years with no chance of parole is likely. He further explains the money will be something called "hot." They can never spend it. A fact that, unbelievably, Cromwell ignores throughout the film. Mack’s eye-opener is that they cannot get married for ten years. When the sentence is passed down, she nearly collapses under the weight of stupidity. Cromwell belligerently sticks to his plan, finally getting that dream job as a drill press operator in prison. Never really attentive during “prison orientation days,” he starts passing notes to Mack on the advice of a cellmate, the conniving Horace McMahon (above right). Every inmate soon knows of "loverboy" and it costs him eight weeks of good conduct. Despite his short screen time, McMahon is dandy.

Atwill remains optimistic for the two brats...uh... youngins. Giving them parole will likely lead him to where they hid the money. But the thick-headed Cromwell refuses the offer. He insists they have “earned” the stolen money with their two years in prison. Yes, stupid goes back ions. Thanks to some wise advice from Mack, he has a change of heart and the parolees get sales jobs for a vacuum sweeper business. The manager shows them their sales region with each competitor represented with pins stuck to a wall map. He explains what they are looking at thusly, ‘Every salesman is a pinhead.’ Cromwell also found this amusing.

McMahon is released from prison and sticks to Cromwell like Vitalis hair tonic. The latter continues his idiotic reasoning, ignoring McMahon’s deadly threats. The duo flees with the music box. Be prepared for a ubiquitous car chase with studio prop cars with enough steering wheel play to steer the Titanic. McMahon puts them in a life-or-death situation and the two inmates struggle for dominance. With a rock on the head, Mack proves her dominance. In a bit of contrived timing, Atwill arrives on the scene. Mack has had it up to you-know-where with Cromwell’s poor planning skills. She finally gets through to the dullard. The film closes as the two deliver the most unlikely dialogue.

Note: Mack’s uncle, where the music box was sent for safekeeping, has died and all his effects are now going to the highest bidder. The collegians race to the auction house but are outbid by Rex Evans. Amusingly, he turns out to be quite the wordsmith. In an attempt to buy back the music box, the couple visits him later at his apartment which is crammed full of items by his unlimited budget. He treats auctions as a sport, like wild game hunting. He has no real use for most of it. In a faint British accent, he excitedly compliments Cromwell on the way he dealt with that “buttinsky” during the auction. He feels absolutely “wonky” with embarrassment for giving the music box to Marjorie Main, a “fabulously ripping old dodo.” His persona, though eccentric, would seem well-reasoned. That might be true until his nurse enters and reminds him of his bedtime. She puts his favorite hat, a flat, feathery item, on his head to which he commands, “Call me Pinky.”

FORGOTTEN FILMS: TV TRANSITION

Though typically overshadowed by Hollywood's A-list, there were respectable performances by numerous actors and actresses who never became major film stars. A common occurrence was their transition to the new medium of television, often becoming familiar faces in homes across America. These periodic posts offer insight into their transition.

Richard Denning: Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger, Jr. (1914-98)

Richard Denning got his start in Hollywood starring in a few popular radio programs of the 1940s and early 1950s. The most famous was being opposite Lucille Ball in the radio comedy, My Favorite Husband, which set the groundwork for her Lucy Ricardo character. But with no face for radio, the handsome Denning soon was singled out, first as a bit player then gained starring roles in mostly low-budget films. He was always fun to watch in spite of being cast in some forgettable films.

Denning was successful at garnering many supporting film roles during his early years in Hollywood as in the musical comedy, The Farmer's Daughter (1940), or The Glass Key (1942), and Black Beauty (1945) all the while rubbing elbows with some major film stars. He was the lead in numerous routine B-movies where he often played cool, easygoing characters able to hold his own in a fistfight. The 6’ Denning could deliver sarcastic quips with coolness in a Dick Powell fashion. Perhaps his most infamous role was in Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) supporting Richard Carlson and Julie Adams followed by his lead in another science-fiction cult classic, Target Earth (1954). He had a nice turn in The Crooked Web (1955) as an undercover government agent routing out a German war crimes officer.

Television credits began to pile up with the lighthearted crime show, Mr. & Mrs. North (1952-54). Denning played a mystery magazine publisher who—along with his wife—moonlight as amateur detectives, echoing the Thin Man film series of the 1930s. The show was also a follow-up to a decade-old film as well as a radio mystery program of the same name. Denning kept busy with lead roles in the series The Flying Doctor (1959) and as the private investigator, Michael Shayne (1960-61) tooling around Miami in a 1960 Oldsmobile convertible. Beyond his screen time, the show was a dud. The comedy dud, Karen (1964-65), was next followed by his being called out of retirement to play Hawaii’s governor in seventy-three episodes of the classic police show, Hawaii Five-O (1968-80).

Note: Richard Denning was born in Poughkeepsie, New York but his family moved to Los Angeles before his second birthday. He attended Manual Arts College earning a Master of Business Administration degree from Woodbury Business College in Los Angeles. Denning married horror film and B-movie actress Evelyn Ankers in 1942. Their marriage lasted until her death in 1985.

THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS (1955)

This seventy-three-minute B-movie is loaded with all the ingredients of a little-known film but it is not. Despite its meager budget and a ten-day shooting schedule, it garnered a huge box office return. The two leads seem made for each other and perhaps that was a catalyst for moviegoers. Filming at the Pebble Beach racing circuit may have also boosted ticket sales—plenty of vintage sports car footage for the automobile fan. Produced by Roger Corman with a story by the same, this Palo Alto Productions was the first film produced for American International Pictures. There is a puzzling opening to the film which has the feel of a truncated theatrical trailer. The viewer has to wait about forty minutes to find out what it is all about. The film stars John Ireland, who also directed along with Edward Sampson. Corman updated his resumé after seeing Ireland’s good results. Getting few casting calls at this point in her career, Dorothy Malone signed on as the second-billed lead. In spite of the necessary dialogue to explain why Ireland is furious and Malone drives fast, it is full of entertainment value and plenty of Corman trademarks.

Ireland, in another furrowed brow role, is framed for murder but breaks jail—the only means of escaping the rap. Minding his own business in a diner, Malone drives up in her Jaguar XK120 to get a glass of pineapple juice. Try requesting that in Minnesota. A blonde motormouth waitress, Iris Adrian—the physical equivalent of today's social media—is full of opinions and gossip about the recent murder. She is irritating Ireland as does a rotund male customer who keeps probing him with questions. He pulls a revolver on Ireland, there is a scuffle and "lumpy" gets decked. The Jaguar did not go unnoticed. Ireland hustles Malone out of the diner and suspends her driving privileges. She might come in handy as a suggested couple. What she becomes is a nightmare hostage, frustrating him to no end as she tries to escape, throw the ignition key away, or constant complaining. They dislike each other immediately.

The unconscious music score is the single worst element in the film. A Corman tradition. It is never appropriate for any given scene as if they randomly chose selections from a music library based on the album's cover art. The first inappropriate use is during Malone’s arrival at the diner over sitcom music of the era. I half expected a laugh track when she orders the pineapple juice. An over-the-top theme is used as the two escape motorcycle police facing the opposite direction down a switchback from them. Ireland decides to coast the Jaguar down the mountain, thus passing behind them. The complicated, raging orchestral music is played at a very low level so it will be less noticeable. But the scene calls for tension from a sustained note. Some of today’s action thrillers have a fear of silence like so many people on a picnic who cannot eat outdoors without a sound system making willows weep. The music quietly and mindlessly crescendos as Malone excitedly says, “I’m Hungry!”

Ireland pulls a gun on Malone as they enter a clichéd roadblock. “Don’t try anything,” he snarls. Hollywood's idle threat is always stupid. If he fires the gun, the police will be on top of him and there is no point in killing her. Maybe Ireland really is a psycho. No surprise they get through the roadblock after telling the authorities they are participating in the nearby international race. Suddenly, Malone gets playfully sarcastic as her mood changes. Soon, “humorous” jabs are traded, signifying an upshift in their relationship.

Malone is well-known and respected on the racing circuit. She enters her car in the cross-border race but Ireland will drive the manly course. Riding as a passenger, she verbally points out the correct driving techniques to be a winner as they take a practice run over the course. Ireland is implausibly a quick learner. She did not coach Ireland on how to appear believable when “driving” the studio prop car, though. His face looks positively numb. Suspicious of Ireland is Malone’s racing friend, Bruce Carlisle, who is given the red flag for worst acting. The racing sequences, using shaky, rear-facing race footage, add some excitement. Rather humorous, though, is the race announcer calling turns and spotting cars over the long-distance road course despite a thick forest and distant hills obscuring his view. Ireland and Carlisle battle for the win until the latter loses control and crashes. Ireland’s plan for his Mexico escape does not become a reality as he stops to help the injured fellow racer.

Note: Dorothy Malone’s hit-and-miss career might be compared to a contemporary of hers, Marsha Mason. Malone’s most visible role may have been her lead in television’s “Peyton Place.” Originally a brunette, dyeing her hair platinum boosted her career for a short time—an assumed alternative to Monroe. But there were plenty of those.

CRASHOUT (1955)

This eighty-nine-minute film—about ten minutes too long—is an unnecessary offering about a commonplace Hollywood theme, a clichéd crash out of six convicts. Perhaps too many involved to be a legit noir. Three is manageable and the film mostly centers around the three main leads. Regardless of the number, convicts rarely escape successfully in a standard formula like this. I might have enjoyed this more if the cast were unknown actors. These six are well-known respected actors, all of whom had their turn as crooks or murderers with their membership in the “Criminal Actors Union.” Their polished performances seem a waste for such a routine B-movie. The film has a couple of gritty moments but even those are tame when compared to some scenes from Armored Car Robbery, done five years earlier.

The film was directed by Lewis Foster who also helped pen the screenplay with his writing partner, Hal Chester. It was produced by Chester for Standard Productions. I think any blame falls directly on these two. The dialogue is not scintillating nor original. One example is when the tough leader commands diner patrons, “Everybody stay where you are and keep quiet.” An anonymous jazz score with blaring trumpets is by the talented Leith Stevens.

William Bendix plays the self-centered, heartless leader at odds with life. If the others want their share of the loot he has hidden in the mountains, everyone will do it his way. Though a versatile actor, with his gnome-like stature, tiny mouth, and definitive nose, he seems better suited for a film’s levity. Nevertheless, the film gravitates around his capable performance as one unhappy individual. The balance of the cast follows his lead. William Talman may have been expected as the ruthless leader—speaking of Armored Car Robbery. Close. He is a mentally unbalanced reverend. A convict with knife-throwing expertise and the ability to use a Mercury as a lethal weapon. The third main character is Arthur Kennedy. Unlike the other two, he was sent to prison for non-lethal embezzlement. He is an astute judge of character and his least favorite person is Bendix. Rounding out the cast is Marshall Thompson, the youngest convict with redeemable qualities. Gene Evans, with several loathsome character roles under his belt, is always hungry and Luther Adler is a scoundrel, moocher, and deviant. The gang takes over a roadside diner, hides when motorcycle cops arrive by swapping clothes with the male patrons, steals a car, abandons the car, and argues a lot.

The remaining convicts invade Beverly Michaels' country home. Kennedy, being that good judge of character, provides her protection from the remaining miscreants. Coupled with Michaels is Adam Williams' singular performance. He nearly steals the film as a naive young man—a friend of the family. One could imagine his late appearance in the film to be accompanied by canned laughter. Polite to a fault, he is an all-around nice guy arriving to help Michaels in any way he can—perhaps with chores or save her from preparing dinner. He is not leaving anytime soon. He would like to say hello to her mother. Unavailable. In an attempt to have him move on, Michaels tells him Kennedy is her visiting cousin. He immediately spots the family resemblance. He offers him chewing gum, even suggesting all three take in a picture show. Not able to take a hint, the hidden convicts have had enough of his persistence and come downstairs to make things perfectly clear. It begins to sink in. Kennedy wraps up the film during a highly fake snowstorm, walking past the camera for an interpretative ending.

Note: I will never understand how gullible Hollywood thinks the average moviegoer must be when someone just stands in one place like a possum caught in headlights while a vehicle accelerates toward them. Most times it can be improved with better film editing. In this case, not having the victim turn too soon and stare at the approaching car. I would think the instinctive thing to do, especially as a trained police officer with good hearing and common sense, is to jump out of the way. No amount of suspended disbelief could help this scene.

MILLION DOLLAR WEEKEND (1948)

Masque Productions presented this seventy-two-minute romantic adventure with an honorable nod to film noir. Produced by Matty Kemp, it was distributed by the British film production company, Eagle-Lion Films, Inc., one of the most respected B-movie makers on Hollywood's "Poverty Row.” This film is one of the weaker Eagle-Lion efforts, not in the mold of, T-Men, Raw Deal or He Walked By Night. The director is the star of the film, Gene Raymond, based on his original story. I am happy to report he and his editor do an expert job with airline continuity. In every scene, the airline and aircraft match. A couple of times he got clever with overlapping transition shots. One has the female lead's hand curled over, gripping the airline armrest’s end and the transitional footage shows the pilot's hand gripping all four prop controls. Later, the flame from Raymond's cigarette lighter transitions to the flame of her lighter.

Action leading up to and during a flight to Hawaii is perhaps the most intriguing as the premise is revealed. We are introduced to the main cast: Raymond is a stockbroker with plans for an unlimited vacation thanks to his million-dollar theft from his employer. While waiting in line for an airline ticket, he flips a coin to determine whether he goes through with his plan. At the same time, Osa Massen—billed here as Stephanie Paull— flips a cardboard coaster on whether to board the same plane to Hawaii. She is a recent widow with a substantial death benefit. Francis Lederer, the handsome version of Peter Lorre, is well aware of her late husband's abuse. He attempts to blackmail her for half the benefits because it would be easy to convince the authorities she murdered him. He was there that evening. She and Lederer are sitting side by side. As the latter heads for the lavatory, she asks Raymond—seated directly across from her—to pretend they are old friends and take Lederer’s seat. Upon his return, Lederer smugly sees through their weak charade—duh! After these initial twenty minutes, the film's intrigue gets grounded on final approach.

While Raymond and Massen share a balmy evening, Lederer breaks into Raymond’s hotel room and takes his million-dollar briefcase. There is a car chase of sorts with the orchestra feverishly working hard to make it exciting. All three end up back on the same plane. After arriving in San Francisco, Lederer spreads a rumor with customs about Raymond, giving him space to escape. Once released, Raymond has a heart-to-heart talk with Massen about their past as the viewer dozes off. Raymond’s sheepish expressions indicate he is not cut out for a life of crime. Their honesty brings them closer together but alas, they must part. On Raymond’s suggestion, they optimistically agree to meet back in Hawaii at a designated spot in one month if their individual troubles are put behind them.

Now alone in the bar with a glass full of remorse, Raymond sees a young woman order a bottle of Napoleon brandy. Lederer's drink of choice. He follows her back to the hotel room and then barges in on the charming scoundrel. A bit of a fistfight breaks out with Raymond, the all-American stockbroker, the winner by a knockout. He retrieves his briefcase, returns to Los Angeles, and puts the money back in the company safe Monday morning. A month later Raymond awaits Massen's arrival and learns the value of patience. She is over thirty minutes late.

Notes: This was in an era when Hawaii and its music transported one seemingly to another planet. On hand to perform traditional Hawaiian music are “The Royal Hawaiian Serenaders.” Except for one singer in falsetto, the quartet is not far removed from the “Sons of The Pioneers.” Just balmier.

Finally, there is amusing use of stock film suggesting Raymond has telephoto vision. He gazes admirably from his hotel room at surfers about a half-mile away but his view is close-up Hawaiian promotional footage from water level. The stock- broker's dreams are dashed knowing he cannot surf anyway.

THE 27TH DAY (1957)

Based on John Mantley’s 1956 novel of the same name, this seventy-five-minute science fiction effort could be considered a thought-provoking approach but it is the time-honored Hollywood fear that atomic weapons will destroy Earth by dim-witted political administrations. And every galaxy knows about it. Though not given any credit, Robert Fresco wrote the screenplay adaption. An oversight I assume and not at his request. It is competently directed by William Asher and produced by Helen Ainsworth for Columbia Pictures. Mischa Bakaleinikoff composed an effective score. It is a solid lead cast though most are not globally known. A misleading poster suggests aliens arrive to attack Earthlings. Again. The film is well-played with a refreshing alien twist.  

Aliens are almost always portrayed by Hollywood as wiser than mere humans. Mankind’s hopeless assumption that it is always greener on the other side of their life. It is not turning out like they had hoped. As representatives of the world's population, five earthlings are taken aboard a spacecraft by an alien, Arnold Moss, the planet’s marketing director. He travels at the speed of light yet waits until the last minute to save his people. The aliens favor Earth as their new home. The problem is all the humans taking up so much space. The subjects are given three capsules, each capable of destroying all human life within a 3,000-mile radius. No trees, wildlife, nor anything constructed by men or women will be harmed. The liberal alien believes the entire human history is one of self-destruction and it will not surprise him if the capsules are used for this purpose. Aliens can be a pessimistic bunch. However, if the humans behave themselves, there will be no invasion on the twenty-seventh day. I assume they will then challenge another planet for rights.

Alien Moss interrupts worldwide broadcasting transmission to reveal the names of the five, becoming the first alien whistle-blower. The media speculates about the “dangerous five” with a fever pitch of personal opinions. It becomes a pandemic of fear. The group gets shorter by one, a suicide. Another, Valerie French, throws her capsules into the ocean relieving her of any relevance in the film. Not making a great deal of sense, she catches the next flight to rejoin top-billed Gene Barry. Now with a new purpose, she becomes the companion and sounding board for his theories. The police have awarded Barry an APB, but not for being a newspaper reporter. Citizens are warned not to take the law into their own hands yet someone fitting his description has already been killed. Quoting Barry, “People hate because they fear and they fear anything they don’t understand.” Relinquishing their three-day hideout at an abandoned horse-race track, they place their bets with the authorities.

Friedrich Ledebur, above, a year after playing the bald, creepy, tattooed Queequeg in "Moby Dick," has a brief role as a brilliant scientist and the most chiseled, aesthetic face in this film. After learning of the alien’s ultimatum, he subjects himself with a lethal dose of gamma radiation just in case they need a guinea pig to test one of the capsules. To his “good fortune” they do! They place him on an inflatable raft—with an irrelevant life vest—in the South Atlantic Ocean. We see him happily wave. The coordinates are given. He vaporizes. Tough go, that one.

On the other side of Earth, the Soviets are relentlessly interrogating the Soviet officer about his capsules. His administered truth serum gives the Soviets knowledge of the capsules’ purpose, but as Moss told each of the five, they alone can access them through their specific mental projection. How the Soviet general opens the capsule case is highly speculative. Headlines are spread globally that the Soviets have claimed world domination. They insist America withdraw all their military from Europe.

EX-TER-MI-NATE! EX-TER-MINATE!!

One of the five, a respected scientist determines a complete set of capsules has a numbered code of “math destruction.” He activates all three capsules and the results indicate they contain the power for both life or death. Confusingly, the screenplay suggests the capsules know who should live or die. The United Nations is all giddy about the prospect of being overrun with aliens. They give Alien Moss fifteen seconds to reply to their friendship broadcast, hoping he has not stepped out on an errand. All broadcasting ceases to provide clear reception of his reply. Millions are pretty peeved they will miss their regularly scheduled programming.

FORGOTTEN FILMS: TV TRANSITION

Though typically overshadowed by Hollywood's A-list, there were respectable performances by numerous actors and actresses who never became major film stars. A common occurrence was their transition to the new medium of television, often becoming familiar faces in homes across America. These periodic posts offer insight into their transition.

Merry Anders: Mary Anderson (1934-2012)

Merry Anders and her mother moved from Chicago to Los Angeles before her sixteenth birthday and doors opened for her to become a junior model. She never got much traction in her acting career—despite an uncustomary first name change—perhaps being born a decade too late to compete in a wardrobe full of attractive mid-century blondes. Her acting was adequate though her roles were not. Anders made her film debut in 1951 for 20th Century Fox films appearing in several uncredited small and supporting roles. She was indistinguishable as one of the fashion models in the film, How to Marry A Millionaire (1953) opposite the high profiles of Marilyn Monroe, Betty Grable and Lauren Bacall. She played a college girl in the film Titanic (1953) and appeared briefly in Three Coins in The Fountain (1954). Also that same year she was overpowered in another forgotten role for the comedy, Phffft (1954). Perhaps not knowing—or caring—what to do with her, Fox studios dropped her in 1954. Larger roles awaited her in the television universe.

Anders was a regular cast member of The Stu Erwin Show (1954-55) and the lead role in It’s Always Jan (1955-56). She landed a lead role in the NTA Film Network and syndicated TV sitcom, How to Marry a Millionaire (1957-59) co-starring, Barbara Eden and Lori Nelson. Anders appeared on several episodes of the Warner Bros. westerns, Cheyenne and Maverick. Also for Warner’s, 77 Sunset Strip provided numerous appearances during its entire run. Finally, in seven episodes she played Policewoman, Dorothy Miller, on Dragnet 1967. Producer and star, Jack Webb, had her wear a brunette wig suggesting that it made her look more serious. Someone should have advised the same for Heather Locklear of T.J. Hooker fame, though hair color was not her only believability problem.

Note: Wanting to live a normal life with a steady paycheck, Anders eventually became a successful customer relations coordinator at Litton Industries, where she remained until her retirement in 1994.

BEAST FROM HAUNTED CAVE (1959)

Right up front, the producers acknowledge their gratitude to South Dakota for their cooperation in making this film (only for the extended television print). Specifically, the use of their snow. No Hollywood fake snow in this one. The random graphics splashing on the screen are typical of the era. These circles look more like Reese's Cup silhouettes, however, as the credits are displayed in a non-traditional arrangement. The film will eliminate seventy-five minutes from your life. Double-billed with The Wasp Woman, many Dakotans may have been expecting another “comedy” from this grammatically challenged “Tonto-esque” titled film. But many probably came away skittish about hitting "plenty big slopes" given the spooky creature. The slow-burn film, produced by Gene Corman, Roger’s kid brother, has the Corman touches. But accolades are due for being primarily a heist film with the science-fiction premise almost the film's sidebar. Never mind the salacious, misleading poster, designed to attract an audience.

A Corman always pads their films and there is plenty of ski footage, supported with misplaced music. Alexander Laszlo’s recycled score, in part, is from other Corman movies. From a Hammond organ to soap oper strings to a cool jazz segment (see note below), the music is certainly disjointed. And totally expected. The film was distributed by Filmgroup—the Corman boys—for Allied Artists Pictures. Charles Griffith’s script of clipped and witty banter, however unlikely, is quite suitable for the drive-in crowd. And the “special effect beast” is handled with restraint relying mostly on ominous shadows, a claw, and a prehistoric scream that sounds like someone tightening their vocal cords while inhaling a high pitch for a screeching effect. Lessening the embarrassment are undefined facial features as it supernaturally floats about, sometimes superimposed in the corner of the screen. After a decade of low-budget, paper mache science fiction “monsters” this one relies a bit more on imagination. The squeamish element is that the beast spins its live victims in a web-like cocoon, placing them in various locations until it can return for the kill. Certainly more creepy than Roger’s outcome with Susan Cabot’s laughable wasp head.

The handsome Michael Forest is undeniably the most familiar face in the film. His long list of television appearances allowed him a great deal of notoriety and variety. He and his four co-stars were Corman regulars who account for themselves in a professional manner. Forest is the level-headed element in this film, a ski instructor/guide in snowy Deadwood. In a turtleneck sweater, a prop pipe with his own cabin, he seems too classy, too perfect, to be in this film. He is persuaded to guide a group of four on a multi-day cross-country ski tour to his cabin. The group’s leader, Frank Wolff, has in his possession an unappreciated girlfriend, Sheila Noonan, a free spirit with sarcastic wit, a drinking problem, and insights into her life's bad decisions. She also slurs her lines as if her mouth is actually frozen in the authentic weather. This is Noonan’s second of four roles in her nearly one-year film career. She tries to thaw “Mr. Perfect” who keeps her flirting at arm’s length for a while. Noonan wants out of her bottomless pit and reveals her three skiing companions are gangsters. The other gang members consist of Wally Campo, a nutty little guy, and Richard Sinatra, Francis Albert's real-life cousin. 

Prior to the ski tour, the thieves set off a diversionary explosion in an abandoned cave as cover for stealing gold bars from the town’s bank vault. Forest becomes a hostage in order to get the gang close to their escape plane when it arrives. How the pilot could possibly land among thick evergreens and yard-deep powder is not clearly spelled out. But nothing goes as planned thanks to that stringy spider-beast awakened by the "heap big cave blast." Cocooned bodies are suspended in various locations with the victims helplessly staring out into space. The beast’s lair provides temporary blizzard shelter for the remaining cast. Emphasis on temporary. Chaotic editing makes for a confusing climax in which a final gangster fires two flare guns, giving “haunted beast plenty big sunburn.” 

Note: The extended print for television broadcasts is responsible for ten minutes of extra footage to pad the film. One of those scenes happens before the opening credit roll, focusing on a cutting-edge Polaroid Land Camera. Most viewers were glued at this point. The two guys in a 1960 Corvair station wagon (top image) are casing the town's bank. One will note jazzy saxophone caper music. The brief music snippet may remind one today, humorously, of the chase music later expertly written for the famous cat and mouse chase sequence in the film “Bullitt.” But this is Laszlo, not Lalo. I digress. In the background is a white 1961 Ford Thunderbird. For a film released in October 1959, both vehicles seem a bigger mystery than a cave beast ever existing. As the original length version indicates, the only mode of transportation for the gang is a 1959 Ford. 

KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952)

 

This is the first and arguably the most well-known of the three films teaming director, Phil Karlson, with John Payne in a career-changer. This film-noir has captivating segments, though one may need to overlook an idealistic screenplay by George Bruce and Harry Essex. With commendable casting choices, great camera work, and an enhancing score, ninety-nine minutes never seemed so short. It was produced by Edward Small with distribution by United Artists and it paved the way for a few "confidential" films in the Fifties. Despite some uniqueness, nearly seventy years have given it some humorous and less-than-believable scenes. All worth a more in-depth review than I typically give.

Robbery mastermind, Preston Foster, with an unimaginative character name of Tim Foster, checks the timing of a floral delivery truck driven by Payne and the all-important armored bank van from his third-story office across the street. Foster puts a lot of stock in the preposterous idea that both vehicles will always arrive at precisely the same time. He checks off the time on a desk-sized stakeout map as confirmation. The large map brings to mind a scaled architectural blueprint though it only outlines the section of the street directly in front of the bank. A hand-drawn note on a paper napkin would have sufficed. It would suggest an exciting robbery to come by way of a rudimentary robbery so often used. But the clever setup and robbery are showcased right up front. Uniquely, the bulk of the film concerns the aftermath.

Foster hires three lowlifes for the opportunity of financial freedom if they help pull off the robbery: ironically, three stereotypical villains of the era, Jack Elam, Lee Van Cleef, and Neville Brand. To their amazement, he knows their backstory specifically. Their dialogue is concise and effective. A chain smoker by birth, Elam’s character is a nervous wreck, constantly in hiding from the electric chair. He is the first to meet Foster and it is a dandy scene. The mastermind wears a rather creepy, perhaps leather, mask when he meets with each of the three who will be provided a similar mask and cap though the masks appear custom tailored to match the actor's general shape of their head. First class all the way. At gunpoint, Elam angrily demands the mask be removed. Elam is in no position to make demands. Instead, Foster slaps him back and forth several times in "burst out laughing" choreography by Elam as he jerks his head left and right in a precise, metronome fashion. Van Cleef is much cooler during his prospective job interview. Quite the ladies' man—they are entranced by his eye slits—he is told not to be late which means stay away from women. Brand is an emotionless gum-chewing killer who has nothing better to do than look numb. A man of few words.  

Idealistically, Foster (as Foster) has thought of everything, even supplying a matching floral delivery truck that will contain the aforementioned criminals. It seems unfair that the artist who painted the floral company's logo on the side of the truck will get no cut of the loot. As it speeds away, awkwardly amusing is a bank guard, who, without really aiming, fires several times at the van in a crouched position with his gun at knee level. His firing range instructor has repeatedly scolded him about his ineffective stance. Slickly, the van is driven inside a big rig trailer parked at a prearranged loading dock. Once again, director Karlson has Payne, a reformed ex-con, a victim of mistaken identity as his truck is spotted. Without a single shred of evidence, he is assumed to be part of the robbery. One sadistic detective tries to beat Payne into submission. He hates him on pure assumption before gathering any facts. So very 21st century. Foster’s clever plan dictates that everyone keep their masks on to hide their identity from each other. One of the film’s interesting devices. He provides airline tickets for the trio's Mexico rendezvous. After each is separately let go in the middle of nowhere, they are instructed to stay south of the border until the heat is off. Probably about two years! 

After the police find the bogus floral van, Payne is released with the police chief's feeble apology. Not from the violent detective, though. “Thanks for nothin'!” is Payne's seething reply. Payne gets a bead on Elam from an informer. He need only follow the cigarette butts. Elam grabs Payne in another Hollywood “confrontational alley.” He demands to know why he is being followed. He growls, “You’ve been giving me the fisheye all evening!” Ironic coming from Elam. Payne claims innocence and then walks away, later picking up Elam's carcinogenic scent in his hotel room. The first item of business...slap Elam. Payne finds a mask in his suitcase. Elam gets slapped again. Payne’s breathy taunting pre-dates the “Dirty Harry” character by nearly two decades. Payne is on Elam like a bad stink as they await their flight to Mexico. The authorities spot Elam, who reaches for his gun. They cancel his frequent-flyer club membership. But it gives Payne an opportunity to pose as Elam. The viewer knows Payne’s charade as Elam is understandably limited. This is the halfway point in the film and you are still pretty sure Colleen Gray is in this movie.

Since the robbery, Foster (as Foster) has been enjoying his retirement as a pipe-smoking fisher of errant men. A longtime friend and insurance investigator, Howard Negley, shows up by invitation. We learn Foster is a veteran cop, finally explaining his background knowledge of his accomplices. He informs Negley that new “evidence” will help crack the two-year-old bank robbery with the credit—Foster's double-cross of his three stooges—going on his resumé. It is the first mention of his daughter, Gray, who has been waiting for her cue to enter the film while studying her script and her bar exam. Despite her short screen time and being the singular female lead, and her notable work in earlier films, it probably accounts for her star billing. Whether negotiated or paid for. She grows fond of Payne during the same southern flight. Purely scripted coincidence. She eventually mentions his “undercover” name to dear old Dad. His eyes suddenly get suspicious knowing full well she could not have been charmed by “Fisheye Elam.” 

Payne is pummeled by the pugilistic team of Cleef and Brand, the latter having met Elam before. There is another usage of the specific violent and painful act as Van Cleef’s left and right hands bang hard against Payne’s ears. Cleef repeatedly refers sarcastically to Payne at this point as, “pal-zee,” after being hoodwinked by Payne earlier. As luck would have it, Gray shows up during a pummeling pause, and the two thugs, sweating profusely, cordially leave. Gray assumes a serious “conversation” was taking place. She and Payne have little to say to each other. At this point, every male identity starts to unravel with three burials to be scheduled. Gray is relieved to learn the truth about Payne as Negley sets the record straight. Confidentially, of course.

Note: Elam wants to buy some cigarettes at the airport. I always thought it strange that many of those height-challenged machines had a large mirror, usually round, on the front. Apparently for men to check their fly.

CONVICT’S CODE (1939)

 

The less-than-famous Motion Pictures for Television, Inc. offered up this sixty-two-minute, quintessential forgotten film, directed by Lambert Hillyer and distributed by Monogram Pictures Corporation—known after 1953 as Allied Artists Pictures Corporation. It had no chance of garnering fans in a year of monumental productions. Hillyer chewed through one movie after another, ending his career with the successful television series, Highway Patrol. There is not much to say about this budget-constrained, well-acted crime film except that the plot is revealed in the first ten minutes. There is nothing about the cinematography or music score that has not been seen or heard before. Capitalizing on a Thirties trend, there may be scenes between two characters explaining what has happened or what is about to happen so the viewer will not be confused. But confusion is not an issue with the obviously spelled-out screenplay by John Krafft.

THE FIRST TEN MINUTES

Former college football great, “Whizz Tyler,” played by Robert Kent, has spent the last three years in prison for a robbery he did not commit. Released on six-year parole, Kent is bent on finding those who railroaded him like racketeer Sidney Blackmer, for starters—whose secretary sounds like Betty Boop over the intercom. Blackmer bet heavily on a crucial college game and lost a bundle. He hires the parolee, an assured way of getting him out of his hair over the slightest parole violation.

Speaking of violations, Kent’s parole officer runs down his restrictions for the next half dozen years. The usual, like not changing his residence, associating with known criminals, driving without a driver’s license, and no guns or boozing. No one ever said he was a whizz at comprehension as he racks up more than enough violations to send him back to the slammer. But the only witnesses are the movie-goers. Finally—the real stickler—he cannot marry unless the potential bride is approved by the parole board.

ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW AFTER TEN MINUTES

Blackmer is loved by everyone who does not really know him. A criminal manipulator, he does, however, have a beating heart. Anne Nagel adores her older brother. Personally, I was annoyed by her occasional monotonous pattern of pitch with words perfectly released as if she is cognizant of over-enunciating. Her steely-bright “esses” stinging her words. I digress. Blackmer’s first assignment for Kent is to make a delivery to Nagel’s home and he takes a shine to her right off the car's running board. There are inconsequential scenes in the movie at this point then the film wraps up briskly as Kent levels with Nagel about being framed. Being the gentleman he is, he does not reveal the person responsible. Knowing how much his sister loves the parolee, Blackmer tries to stop his bull-headed associate from following through with the “Whizz” hit. Everyone gets what and who they deserve in the end. Knowing the bloodline with a known criminal, Nagel hopes she gets a good marriage approval rating from the parole board.

Note: There are two actors of note, though for different reasons. Maude Eburne plays Kent’s landlady. An exhausted pessimist with a nasal delivery. Her performance may be the only fondly remembered moment in the film. She is the levity whether intentional or not. The other is Ben Alexander, who plays Kent’s long-time friend and newspaper sports writer. Alexander would later gain fame, and weight, as the first television partner to Sgt. Joe Friday on, “Dragnet.”